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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25719283">Trigger Point (Day 5: Hesitancy)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifyouwereamelody/pseuds/ifyouwereamelody'>ifyouwereamelody</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Worlds Through Which We Weave (Zutara Week 2020) [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Police, F/M, Zutara Week, Zutara Week 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:47:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25719283</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifyouwereamelody/pseuds/ifyouwereamelody</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t imagine she has any issue with being quick on the trigger when she needs to be. </p><p>Still, it’s a mantra that he’s grown up with, beaten into him with every day spent falling in line with his family’s ideals: don’t hesitate. Never hesitate. Hesitancy-</p><p>‘-gets a man killed, you know. Or a woman, either way.'</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katara &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Worlds Through Which We Weave (Zutara Week 2020) [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853797</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Trigger Point (Day 5: Hesitancy)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>SO LIKE Zutara Week is officially over, but I am officially not done so here's Day 5 for y'all. The pacing on this was a tricky one to figure out, particularly towards the end, so I've played with some formatting to help me out.</p><p>The song for this one was Play With Fire by Sam Tinnesz. Felt real badass as I was writing.</p><p>TW: Quite a lot of guns/talk of weapons. Gang/mob activity. Sexual activity that is still not explicit, I don't think, but is starting to head in that direction. Suggested character death. Probably more swearing than usual. Katara's a cold-ass mf.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her door is unlocked. Just as it always is when he arrives.</p><p>It’s not a hard climb up to her second-floor flat – Zuko’s done it enough times that he knows every stretch of vine, every crack in the wall – and then with a practised swing he’s over the railing and on the balcony. He can see her through the windowed doors, her figure thrown into silhouette by the harsh glow from her computer screen along with the softer, warmer light of the lamp that sits on her desk.</p><p>Slowly, quietly, he twists the handle of the door down and slips into the room. She doesn’t react, absorbed in the work on her screen as he presses the door closed, as he toes his shoes off, as he pads silently across the sitting room towards her-</p><p>Her gun is on him before he even has a chance to lay grip on his own, his hand stalling on its way to his waistband to lift slowly up into the space by his head in surrender.</p><p>‘You always hold for too long. If I’d been someone else I could’ve shot you already.’</p><p>Katara raises a sardonic brow and swivels her chair away from him, laying her gun down on the desk as she trades the prospect of actual gunfire for a volley of rapid keystrokes so aggressive that it almost emulates the sound of it.</p><p>‘I wouldn’t be complaining if I were you. If I fired every time I thought I heard something outside my window, you’d be dead ten times over by now.’</p><p>A fair point – he can’t imagine she has any issue with being quick on the trigger when she needs to be. Still, it’s a mantra that he’s grown up with, beaten into him with every day spent falling in line with his family’s ideals: don’t hesitate. Never hesitate. Hesitancy-</p><p>‘-gets a man killed, you know.’ He pauses, jerks his head in concession. ‘Or a woman, either way.’</p><p>She lets out a scornful tut, eyes still fixed on the screen in front of her.</p><p>‘How inclusive of you. There’s a difference between hesitating and holding your nerve. Making rash decisions gets you killed too.’</p><p>‘Hm. Guess there’s no winning, then,’ he reasons, flopping down onto the couch and stretching out languidly like a cat in the sun.</p><p>Tilting his head up towards Katara, he watches her fingers attack the computer keys for a moment before his gaze drifts down to the pistol that’s still sitting by her right hand.</p><p>‘That thing even loaded?’</p><p>‘Of course it’s loaded. I live alone, no reason for it not to be.’ There’s a hint of a laugh in her eyes as she glances sideways at him. ‘Safety never came off, though, no need to worry.’</p><p>He gives a blustering snort.</p><p>‘Why would I be worried?’</p><p>If he had a better angle on her, he’s sure he would’ve seen her roll her eyes. As it is, all he gets is a long-suffering sigh before she spins her chair around towards him and fixes him with a stare that just screams no-nonsense.</p><p>‘Are you here for any particular reason, Zuko? Have you got something for me?’</p><p>Unfortunately for her, screams are something he’s been taught to ignore.</p><p>He smirks, rolling his shoulders back and shifting his hips.</p><p>‘I can think of at least one thing, yeah.’</p><p>Her eyes lift fleetingly to the ceiling, as if she might be able to convince some bored god to smite him where he sits.</p><p>‘Fucking hell, you are such an immature- Don’t be a dick. You know what I mean.’</p><p>Zuko huffs out an exaggerated sigh before reaching around to dig the photo out of his back pocket, chucking it down onto the desk next to her.</p><p>‘Ishida Kazuya, an attorney who works along by the central plaza. He’s been building a case against Zhao, one of the clan’s higher-ranking kohai. They’re putting out a hit-’</p><p>‘Hm.’</p><p>Katara sounds almost disinterested as she studies the picture.</p><p>‘-on his wife.’</p><p>That gets her attention.</p><p>‘Wait, what?’</p><p>‘As a warning. If he doesn’t start helping to cover stuff up instead of blowing it open, his kids are next.’</p><p>Her face slackens in dismay, and a swear slips from between her lips like a malediction.</p><p>‘Motherfuckers.’</p><p>For a couple of seconds, she sits staring at the photo, brow furrowed and teeth worrying at her bottom lip. Then the chair falls back with a clatter as she surges to her feet, fist punching down forcefully enough on the desk to make her pens rattle in their holder.</p><p>‘<em>Fuck</em>, the captain won’t-... He’s not going to let us go after this one.’</p><p>Zuko frowns, sitting up as he watches her pace back and forth across the room; a wild animal caught in a cage.</p><p>‘What do you mean, why wouldn’t he? Here I am busting my ass and risking my life to get you information, and you’re not even going to use it?’</p><p>‘No, it’s not that simple.’ She stops, turning towards him, and Zuko quickly drags his eyes away from her bare legs and up to her face. ‘How familiar are you with World War Two?’</p><p>‘Huh... You know what, yeah, it kind of rings a bell- I mean, what kind of a question is that?’</p><p>With a wearied sigh, she sinks to a sit on the other end of the couch, her hands coming up to rub roughly at her brow before she swipes her hair out her face, leaning back against the cushions to stare bleakly at the ceiling.</p><p>‘During the War, the Germans used the Enigma encryption to send messages back and forth, so even if they were intercepted, no one could actually understand them.’ Her voice is flat, almost robotic. ‘Then Alan Turing and his team developed a machine that could decipher the code. Suddenly, the Brits were faced with the dilemma of how to balance protecting their country from German attacks, and keeping the Germans from realising that their correspondence was being successfully interpreted. It’s an issue that you face whenever you have insider information – if you act on every piece of intel, your opponents get tipped off and you risk your source being exposed or neutralised. The captain won’t think this one’s big enough to move on.’</p><p>‘Man. That’s shit.’</p><p>What else is he meant to say to that? It’s pretty shit.</p><p>She tilts her head towards him with a scowl.</p><p>‘Your empathy is astounding. <em>God</em>, I am so sick of sitting back and letting your family hurt people because we don’t have enough information to actually move in on them for real.’</p><p>And Zuko’s always known that he’s just full to the brim of short fuses, but that particular shot must hit one that’s practically non-existent because he feels himself go from nought to fucking one-twenty in all of two seconds.</p><p>‘Hey, don’t fucking start with me, okay? I’m giving you everything I can, here. In case you haven’t noticed, my father’s not exactly my biggest fan at the moment-’</p><p>He brandishes his right hand at her, the fifth finger newly-cut to a stump to match his left side, each knuckle a penance paid for some form of infraction or failure.</p><p>‘-so it’s not as if they’re just throwing valuable information my way. Sorry if you thought that I could turn the fucking tides single-handedly, but I’m just not that important, so fuck me, right?’</p><p>Katara’s turned in her seat, one leg drawn up onto the sofa so that she can face him head-on, and perhaps her temper isn’t running quite as hot as his but she’s still doing a damn good job of pushing back at him; there’s a distinct edge to her voice which matches the sharpness in the set of her jaw.</p><p>‘That’s not what I said.’</p><p>‘No, but it’s what you fucking meant.’</p><p>With that, she seems to reach a limit on how much of his bullshit she’s willing to take – she shoves him hard on the shoulder and starts spitting out words like a machine gun, leaning in close to make sure he catches every sharply-enunciated, rapid-fire syllable.</p><p>‘It might shock you to hear that I can be frustrated about this case without thinking it’s your fault. I know you’ve got that whole guilt-ridden inferiority complex thing going on, but not everything revolves around you and your lack of self-esteem, Zuko. Get over it.’</p><p><em>God</em>... Why does it turn him on when she gets like this? One day, he keeps thinking to himself, he’s going to have to take that out and examine it more closely – it definitely can’t be coming from anywhere remotely healthy – but for now he wraps his hand around the back of her neck and pulls her hard into him, his lips finding hers in a collision so forceful that it’s almost painful.</p><p>Katara responds instantly – he’s not the only one with some questionable trigger points – lifting up to her knees so that she can swing a leg over his lap and grind her hips down against him. She’s merciless, always, <em>merciless</em> in the pull of her fingers in his hair, the sting of her teeth on his skin, the way she strips him clear of clothes, barriers, burdens... She’s a weapon in his arms, precise and devastating, and he knows that if he doesn’t handle her with care then she’ll destroy him completely.</p><p>But that doesn’t stop him from returning fire. Everything she gives him – every button torn, every mark made – he gives her right back. He’s learned what she likes, and he is more than happy to provide her with it.</p><p>For the record, he doesn’t love her. Fuck, sometimes he’s not even sure that he likes her. But he does feel like he knows her, <em>needs</em> her – he recognises the same kind of dark, consuming desperation in Katara that he thinks he must’ve been feeling his whole life, and if he can figure out how to burn it away without detonating her... well, he’ll consider that a pretty good outcome.</p><p>He doesn’t love her, but somewhere along the way, completely unintentionally, he went and started caring.</p><p>Over the time they’ve spent together, shut away in her flat under cover of night, he’s felt it take root, slowly shredding his will or his spirit or <em>something</em> that feels deep and personal, that disintegrates a little more every time her voice breaks on his name, every time she opens herself up to him. And now, for better or worse, he’s not got enough in him anymore to keep himself from baring every chink in his armour to her.</p><p>How fucking typical.</p><p>They don’t make it off the sofa, shirts tossed to the floor, her sleep shorts flung off to some far corner of the room, his jeans shoved down around his ankles as she moves over him. The pace that she sets is nothing short of punishing, and it’s all he can do to keep up as his lips work at the flush that’s spreading across the skin beneath her collarbones (‘no marks above the neckline, Zuk- oh, God, <em>fuck</em>’), as his hands move over her hips and up her back to pull her closer when she starts to shake and fall apart against him.</p><p>There’s always a moment, after, when time seems to move in slow-motion; when she lingers in his arms, and her heart beats against his chest, and her fingers run lightly across his face before she pulls away from him again. It’s the only time he thinks that he needs to be careful how he holds her not because she might go off, but because she might break.</p><p>‘You’ve never told me-’</p><p>She fishes some tissues out of the box on the side table and chucks them in his direction, grabbing a throw off the back of the sofa and pulling it around her shoulders.</p><p>‘-where exactly do the Fushichou think you are when you’re here?’</p><p>‘The clan has this strip club downtown. No surprise that it runs a brothel out of the back rooms, and it’s kind of expected that we <em>make use </em>of it, if you know what I mean.’</p><p>She rolls her eyes, her voice wry.</p><p>‘No, please elaborate.’</p><p>‘Shut up.’ He tugs at her blanket, pulling the end of it over his lap. ‘There’s this girl there. She’s got a reputation for being my favourite, but when we go off upstairs and the rest of them think that we’re... you know-’</p><p>‘Having sex, Zuko. If you can do it then you can say it.’</p><p>He shoots her a scowl before continuing.</p><p>‘-she’s actually helping me get out down the fire escape without anyone noticing.’</p><p>‘And you don’t think that it’s risky involving another person in this? That’s just one more link in the chain, what if she gives you away?’</p><p>‘She won’t. We’re friends, kind of. I’ve been slipping her extra cash for years – she’s got a husband in a wheelchair and a seven-year-old kid to look after.’</p><p>Now that they’re still, the air in the room cooled, Zuko can see goosebumps pricking across the skin of her legs, and he pulls them up onto the sofa so that she’s curled against his side, his arm coming around her shoulders as she settles in place.</p><p>‘So, what, you and she have never...’</p><p>‘Nah. Like I said, we’re friends. And she’s married. Besides, it’s never sat well with me. You know, the whole paying for-... The other guys all seem pretty game, but I’m not into it. Most of the girls that work there don’t do it by choice, and even if they did... I don’t know, it feels too fake.’</p><p>‘Huh.’</p><p>‘What?’</p><p>Her fingers are picking at the blanket as she shrugs, gaze fixed on the loose threads – is she avoiding his eyes?</p><p>‘It’s just... funny. I mean, you say that as if you don’t think there’s anything transactional about you and me. As if we aren’t both just using each other.’</p><p>He feels himself tense, a layer of confusion and foreboding hardening beneath his skin in anticipation of the shot that he knows must be coming next.</p><p>‘Using?’</p><p>‘Yeah. I mean, when this began, you’d just started the process of cutting ties with pretty much everyone in your life and you were craving human contact. I needed to relieve myself of some of the stress of this job and the easiest way to do that was with someone who was a part of it all themselves. Options were pretty thin on the ground for both of us, and now we’re stuck in this together.’</p><p>She’s still not quite looking directly at him, but her voice is level, clear of emotion, and now she’s shrugging again.</p><p>‘Not all that different from your brothel when it comes down to it, right? Different contract, same currency.’</p><p>Pulling his arm back from around her shoulders, Zuko sits forwards on the sofa, his jaw sliding from side to side as he works through what she’s saying. He can’t help his own words from coming out tight and sullen.</p><p>‘You don’t sound too conflicted about that.’</p><p>From where he’s sat, leaning over against his knees, he can’t see her face. But he hears the humourless laugh that she huffs out.</p><p>‘I’m a detective who’s regularly sleeping with an informant. I think the point of moral quandary passed me by a long time ago.’</p><p>‘Right. Of course.’</p><p>For a couple of seconds, he thinks he might let it go, might swallow it down and pretend it doesn’t scratch his throat raw as it goes, but then his stomach clenches and turns in a way that tells him that’s not going to happen and suddenly he’s on his feet.</p><p>‘You know what, I think I’m done with this.’</p><p>‘What? You’re-’</p><p>‘I’m done, yeah.’</p><p>His jeans are rebelling, tangling at his feet as he tries to wrestle them up.</p><p>‘What the fu- Zuko, you know that your immunity’s dependent on helping us.’</p><p><em>Finally</em>. He yanks his belt gracelessly through its buckle, turning to face her as he snarls his response.</p><p>‘Right, because that’s how it all works, isn’t it? It’s all about the <em>transaction</em>. But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about <em>this.</em>’ He waves a hand back and forth between them. ‘This whole fucking messed up shit-show of an arrangement we’ve got going.’</p><p>‘I-... Where is this coming from?’</p><p>‘I don’t know, there’s something about having a relationship broken down to a matter of convenience that’s a real turn-off for me.’</p><p>‘<em>Relationshi</em>- I thought we were both clear on what this was.’</p><p>If he didn’t know better – if he hadn’t just <em>learned</em> better – he’d think she was upset. Panicking, even. Her eyes are wide, jaw clenched, and she’s never looked less dangerous, but he knows that appearances don’t mean shit. He can feel it, can feel himself cracking, splintering in the wake of her strike.</p><p>‘Yeah, well, so did I.’</p><p>He starts casting around for his shirt, only to draw almost immediately to a halt, his breath faltering and his words coming strangled as he feels something important and structural collapse in him.</p><p>‘You know what, I am so fucking sick of people not giving a crap about me. My whole life, no one in my family’s given two shits past what I can do for them, and then with all this I was starting to think-... Guess I was wrong.’</p><p>And now <em>she’s</em> the one who sounds wary of <em>him</em>; she’s the one treading carefully, reaching out towards him like he might fire if she hits the wrong switch.</p><p>‘I’m-... I’m so sorry that you feel that way... but I don’t understand how you thought-’</p><p>He flares again, sparks erupting in his chest and flying up his throat to land hot on his tongue, so that when he speaks it burns, it sears, it blisters.</p><p>‘God, that’s a tough one – clearly I got the wrong impression somewhere in between you letting me spend the night here and the first time you opened up to me about your mother.’</p><p>It’s a heavy blow, a hell of a weak spot to use against her, and underneath the heat of his anger he flinches at the way her face pales to his words, but he can’t lay down arms now, can’t unlaunch what’s already hit its target.</p><p>‘You know what, I am curious, though – if this is all just down to the maths of it, how do you know you haven’t gotten your calculations wrong, huh? How do you know I’m not going to double-cross you?’</p><p>Throughout all of it so far, she hasn’t moved from her spot on the sofa, blanket drawn tight around her shoulders and eyes fixed on him as he moves around the room looking for his <em>goddamn</em> shirt. Now, though, she stands, speaking quiet and even.</p><p>‘I think we both know that you’re not going to do that. You aren’t that kind of man.’</p><p>He rounds on her, pushing right up into her space so that she needs to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, so that she can feel his breath on her face, and he smooths his voice into something dark and tar-like that leaves no room for doubt about what kind of man he really is.</p><p>‘Oh, don’t get things confused now, Katara. Don’t think that just because we’ve made a couple of <em>deals</em> that means you know everything about me. I’ve hurt plenty of people in my time, done plenty of awful things. I’m no hero.’</p><p>He expects her to flick her gaze over towards her gun, to gauge the distance she’d have to cover to reach it.</p><p>She doesn’t.</p><p>He’s not sure if that’s because she doesn’t believe he’d hurt her, or because she doesn’t think she’d need the gun to take him down if he tried.</p><p>He’s not sure which he’d prefer.</p><p>‘You are a good person, with a strong conscience. You’ve done bad things, but you’ve spent the past few months trying to make it right. You’re not going to throw it away now.’</p><p>She seems so certain, even with him standing over the way that he is. Does she really believe that? Is that what she thinks it all boils down to? His <em>conscience</em>? Yeah, that’s what drove him to reach out to the cops in the first place – the blood on his hands was getting too much, too stained into the creases of his palms to be able to wash it out properly anymore – but now...</p><p>Now, if he’s real fucking honest with himself, he knows that his conscience has taken a backseat. The idea that he might go back to the Fushichou is laughable, yes, but now it all comes down to <em>her</em> – she’s wound her way into him so completely that he could never find it in him to put her in a position where she could be hurt.</p><p>Perhaps that's been her plan all along.</p><p>‘Look... I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you- that you got the wrong idea. I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve been misleading. But you are asking me for something that I cannot give you. You’re an asset, and I’ve already compromised you enough with all this. I won’t go any further.’</p><p>Something in that catches at him, something stupid and trivial. Probably completely meaningless, but...</p><p>‘<em>Won’t</em>. So you’re refusing to. Which means there’s something to refuse.’</p><p>They’re still standing only inches apart, and she gives him look so heavy and searching that he can practically feel her gaze moving over his skin.</p><p>‘I think there are some things that we’re condemned to only ever feel from afar, across the boundaries between the lives that we could’ve lived and the ones that we’re living.’</p><p>He laughs bitterly.</p><p>‘How fucking poetic.’</p><p>‘The thing is, even if I did-...’</p><p>She wavers for a moment, and then her face sets, her eyes growing hard and determined as she turns away from him and starts gathering up her clothes from the floor.</p><p>‘Even if there were something to refuse, bringing down the Fushichou Clan comes before anything else. Any<em>one</em> else. They’ve hurt too many people, destroyed too many families.’</p><p>Blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, one hand clutching her pyjamas, she plucks his shirt out from down the side of the sofa and comes back to face him, shoving it into his hold and turning him forcefully towards the balcony door.</p><p>‘You want out, fine. Don’t come back here again.’</p><hr/><p>He goes back three days later. Her door is unlocked. As always.</p><hr/><p>Another month goes by just the same, him climbing the wall up to her balcony and her leaving the way open for him time after time. They don’t talk again about any of... <em>that</em>, falling back into the rhythm that they set for themselves from the start and disregarding anything else that may or may not be lurking underneath the ease of the familiar. And it’s still there, Zuko knows, still ticking away in the background, counting down the time until it becomes too pressing to ignore anymore, but for now neither of them seems able either to ask for more or settle for nothing, and so they go on.</p><p>Then comes the change in the wind:</p><p>‘We’re going in. The captain’s decided we’re moving on the warehouse tomorrow, when everyone’s there for the meeting. Can you stay away?’</p><p>‘Not without arousing suspicion. I’ll try to slip out before the end.’</p><p>‘No good, the plan is to storm the building just after it’s started, as soon as everyone’s settled in one place.’</p><p>‘Okay, I’ll see what I can do.’</p><p>‘Please.’</p><p>That night, Katara seems to cling to him tighter than she ever has before. She leads him through to her bedroom, brushes her fingers down the sides of his face, and kisses him as though she might be able to catapult them both into a different life if she just tries hard enough; a life where neither of them knows how it feels to climb a balcony under cover of night, or to fire a gun, or to fear the coming day.</p><p>When she draws back for breath, her eyes are shining in the low light.</p><hr/><p>He miscalculates.</p><p>No, that’s an understatement.</p><p>He really <em>fucking</em> screws up.</p><p>For some reason, he doesn’t count on Azula.</p><p>‘Going somewhere, brother?’</p><p>He freezes in the hallway to the sound of his sister’s gun cocking behind him, his face screwing into a grimace as he slowly raises his hands up behind his head. <em>Shit. Shit shit shit shit-</em></p><p>‘Don’t bother trying to come up with an excuse, it’ll just bore me. I know something’s going on – you’ve been pathetically jumpy all morning, and now... Walking out of a meeting when it’s barely begun as if no one would notice? You’re unimportant, Zuzu, but you aren’t invisible.’</p><p>Her voice is getting closer, louder as she stalks along the corridor towards him, and then she’s stepped into his field of vision, taking care to stay far enough away that he could never move to disarm her before she got a shot in. Her eyes are bright, her smile cold and hungry, and the gun in her hand is held at an angle, pointed almost lazily in his direction.</p><p>‘So, what’s it going to be? The truth, which I think we can both agree would be easier all round, or a lie that I’ll have to shoot you for?’</p><p>He’s saved – or is <em>saved</em> perhaps not the right word? – from having to answer by a sudden bang that echoes from the depths of the building, a bang that can only be the sound of a door being blown open, the rattle of gunfire following swiftly on from it.</p><p><em>Katara</em>.</p><p>Azula’s face lights up in realisation, her tone mockingly sweet as she appraises Zuko where he stands.</p><p>‘Ohhhhh. Oh, I see. Well, well, well, I must say, I’m almost impressed. I would never have thought you had the guts to pull off something like this. How fun.’</p><p>With his mind split between the corridor and the meeting room, between Azula and Katara, Zuko reacts too slowly when his sister moves in, dealing out hits to his gut and then his head in quick succession. By the time he can breathe properly and his vision has cleared, Azula’s gun is at his head and his own belt is binding his hands behind his back.</p><p>‘Now, if you’d be so kind as to walk, brother...’</p><p>They’re nearly at the end of the corridor when he hears a door burst open behind them.</p><p>‘Hey! Freeze!’</p><p>It’s her, her voice, her footsteps pounding up the hallway. Azula sighs, holding Zuko in front of her, gun to his temple, as she turns back to face Katara.</p><p>‘I wouldn’t shoot if I were you.’</p><p>And Katara falters, drawing to a halt, her eyes widening at the sight of him. She’s alone – why is she alone? – with no sign of back-up anywhere.</p><p>‘Zuko!’</p><p>Azula’s voice is taunting, drawling long and relaxed as if she has all the time in the world, not perturbed in the slightest by the pistol that Katara has pointed in their direction.</p><p>‘Hm, interesting. Very interesting. You know, I thought I was coming into this with an informant for a hostage, and I figured it was probably fifty-fifty as to whether or not that would hold any sway. Except that’s not all that he is to you, is it?’</p><p>She gives him a shake, a cruel kind of glee starting to bleed into her words.</p><p>‘Zuzu, did you go and get this nice cop girl to fall in love with you? Can’t say that I blame you, she’s a pretty thing, isn’t she? But why ever didn’t you tell us about her?’</p><p>He stays silent, his lips pressed tightly together – <em>you’re getting nothing on her from me</em> – and after a few seconds he feels his sister shrug behind him as she goes back to addressing Katara.</p><p>‘Hm, guess he’s not feeling too chatty. But no matter – he’s told <em>you</em> plenty about <em>us</em>, hasn’t he?’</p><p>Katara’s face is set in anger, a quiet, stinging abhorrence that emanates down the corridor towards them as if it were tear gas.</p><p>‘I already knew enough about you from the start. You killed my mother.’</p><p>‘Well, I’ve killed a lot of women, and I’m sure plenty of them were mothers – you’re going to have to be a bit more specific if you want me to remember this one.’</p><p>‘Kya Nutaraq. She headed the Southern Raiders case.’</p><p>The laugh that Azula lets out is light, almost breezy.</p><p>‘The Southern Raiders? Oh, come on now, don’t be melodramatic. I was just a child then, how could I possibly have had anything to do with that?’</p><p>‘Doesn’t matter, you’re Fushichou. You burn, you die, you rise again. It doesn’t matter who held the gun; you’re all part of the same beast.’</p><p>‘I suppose that is true. Look at that, she’s smart as well – you’ve picked a good one here, brother.’</p><p>The noise coming from deeper in the building has started to grow closer, doors banging and shouts sounding from an ever-decreasing distance, and Azula hums cheerfully at the clamour, her gun pressing that bit harder into the side of Zuko’s head.</p><p>‘You know, it’s been nice chatting, but I think it’s time I took my leave. So here’s how things are, and really it’s very simple: you lower your weapon and let me get out of here, I let him live. And because I’m feeling generous, I’m going to give you to the count of three.’</p><p>Katara lets out a shuddering gasp of a breath, folding at the waist just fractionally under the weight of Azula’s ultimatum, her eyes drawing wide and horrified... but the muzzle of her gun holds steady.</p><p>Her aim doesn’t dip. Doesn’t waver.</p><p>This is what she came for.</p><p>This is what she’s worked for for years, hurt over for years.</p><p>This, <em>this</em> is the desperation that he sees in her.</p><p>She meets his gaze, her face drawn and suddenly wet, jaw clenched tight –</p><p>
  <em>Don’t hesitate. Never hesitate.</em>
</p><p>– and he knows that as time starts to slow, as every beat of his heart hits like a punch against his ribs, as he finds the pain, the devastation, the resolve in her eyes –</p><p>
  <em>Hesitancy gets a man killed, you know.</em>
</p><p>– Katara isn’t hesitating. She’s holding her nerve. She’s taking a stand. She’s making her choice.</p><p> </p><p>He could never have expected anything different from her.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Bringing the Fushichou Clan down comes before anything else.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>‘One-’</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Any</em>one<em> else.</em></p><p> </p><p>‘-two-’</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>They’ve hurt too many people.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>They have. Azula has. <em>He</em> has.</p><p> </p><p>God forgive him.</p><p> </p><p>‘-three.’</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>She’s merciless, always. A weapon in his arms. Precise and devastating.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Should he close his eyes? Will it be easier for him if he does? Will it be easier for <em>her</em>?</p><p> </p><p>‘Hm, what a pity. Time’s up.’</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Well, if this is the last moment he’s going to get with her... Eyes open. Hold her gaze.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A single nod, just so she knows that he understands. It’s okay.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She’ll destroy him completely.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The door at the end of the hall flies open with a crash that ricochets off the walls like thunder –</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Maybe some things are just inevitable.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>– and a gun fires.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As I said at the start, the pacing was a tricky one to figure out, here - I could see how the tension would build if it were on a screen, but sometimes it's hard to translate that into words, so please do let me know how it reads.</p><p>Happy belated Zutara Week, everybody!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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